Sand and Sake
by KarmaK
Summary: At first they hadn't talked much. After one shot, he'd seemed apt to leave, yet he hadn't. Booze was good at doing that, at making even the hardest of men open up in some way or another. xxGaara smutxx
1. Part One

_Sand and Sake_

 **Part One**

A soft, lazy sort of music drifted around the corner, pulled her forward. She followed the music and smell of expensive alcohol. Truth was, she was already sort of inebriated, but not on booze; she'd smoked a little too much grass at the party, and in her true fashion, she'd started a fight. Had gotten thrown out and told to get her head together before coming back. She'd tried. Sat sobering up on the monument for a solid twenty minutes before taking a leisurely walk around town and finding herself now standing before a descending staircase in a very narrow alleyway.

It was pitch outside, around midnight. Just a bit of light traced its way up the wooden steps, casting over half of her face. From where she now stood, she could make out more of the music. Mostly bass and drums. A hint of saxophone. The beat sent chills over her arms. Smiling to herself, she disappeared down the stairs and up to the heavily painted door, stopping for only a minute to trace some of the writing. This wasn't graffiti, but deliberate poetic phrases and scribblings. A jazz club with an apparent love for haiku. The small sign nailed right at eye level read "Speakeasy Lounge" in bright bold, red letters. She pushed the door open with one hand, holding the frame with the other and looking inside. The music wafted against her, louder for sure now.

The inside of Speakeasy was small and flush with tightly crammed booths and wooden tables. The walls were rock. The wooden floor was covered in a layer of sand. A stage, small and tucked away in the corner, housed the live band whose tune she'd been following. As she scouted the place, she wasn't entirely certain there was room for her. Speakeasy was packed. People were standing along the walls, even by the door. Buzzed with curiosity and itching to have a drink, she entered anyway, shutting the door gently behind her.

The bar was extremely busy. Despite this, Gaara managed to locate the most secluded spot near a back exit. Kankuro joined his brother at the booth and cracked open a tall, fat bottle of sake. His face felt bare without his paint. He smirked at Gaara. Absently, Gaara's slender hands toyed with the shot glasses set out in front of him. The clang they made was somewhat pleasant. Hypnotic. But also annoying. Without paying it mind, Kankuro reached out and swiped both glasses, filling them with sake and lifting Gaara's, shaking it dauntingly at his brother. They toasted and drank, no words shared between them. Comfortable. It passed over Kankuro's mind that there had been a time when sitting in the same room as his brother was a big fat no-no. Much less taking something from his hands. And without warning no less. Surely that would have meant certain death. The thought now was laughable. That time in his life felt strange and almost unreal.

"It's funny," Kankuro mumbled, sloshing the half empty bottle, "how memory and perception fade with time. You ever get that?"

Drumming his fingers on the table methodically, Gaara said, "Not really. But I find most people apparently do."

"Yeah I forgot. You're like an elephant," Kankuro laughed lowly.

Gaara looked confused.

"You know," Kankuro explained, rolling his eyes, waving a hand, "an elephant never forgets."

"I haven't heard that," Gaara dismissed, scrunching his face. "That's a ridiculous notion. Based on what facts do you know an elephant's capabilities?"

Kankuro laughed harder. "It's just a saying," he snorted. Relaxed as he saw Gaara's lips fall into a soft grin. He poured another round, never ceasing to be amazed at Gaara's high tolerance for booze. "I swear to god," Kankuro commented, feeling numb and fuzzy, "I think you cheat."

A child like playfulness touched Gaara's face. He sat back in the booth and smirked at Kankuro.

"You soak up half the shots with your sand or something," Kankuro shook his head, poured two more.

"No," Gaara piped in, "I just maintain myself more so than some."

Eyes popping, Kankuro licked his teeth. "Whoa," he smiled, "I didn't know better, I'd say that was a dig at me."

"You're usually a terrible drunk," Gaara shrugged. "You have no head for it."

"Pft," Kankuro rested his chin in his hand, tried to look unimpressed, "I've seen you get sloppy once or twice."

The slight drunken flush on Gaara's cheeks stained red. But in his fashion, he quickly regained composure.

As the bottle emptied further, the conversations drifted from carefree subjects toward personal territory. Kankuro didn't know what he'd expected. He'd known his own worries had been eating at him, and was well aware of the depressive side alcohol sometimes brought out in his personality. Taking a swig from the bottle, Kankuro sighed heavily and shook his head, facing down at the table. It ate at him. Here he was, moping to his emotionally stilted brother about his own god damn problems yet again. Gaara was a champ though. He listened patiently. Which was all Kankuro really needed at the moment.

"God," Kankuro apologized, rubbing his face, "I feel like a fucking woman, blubbering about this. I'm sorry."

Gently, Gaara gripped the bottle Kankuro held. He took it, paying little mind to the puppeteer's protest. It was practically empty. The last of it, for the most part, having gone down only Kankuro's gullet. "You can't keep blaming yourself," Gaara said, seeming to look at his own reflection against the bottle. "Whatever the reason Keiran ran off," he went on, "it had nothing to do with hating you. A lot of people were changed by the war. Some are at a loss for identity now."

"You can't say it had nothing to do with me," Kankuro growled.

"I know that she cares a great deal for you," Gaara remained careful. "She told me so."

"Then why leave?" Kankuro said, the words tasted like acid. But he was hopeful and startled by what Gaara revealed.

"Stop worrying. She'll be back once Suna is repaired," Gaara said.

Cupping the back of his neck with both hands, Kankuro touched his nose against the table and exhaled loudly.

Not typically in the business of playing a shoulder to cry on, Gaara was relieved when Kankuro stumbled from the bar. He rubbed his temples and his eyes followed Kankuro's obnoxiously bright green dress shirt all the way to the door. The girl entering as Kankuro left nearly ran into the eldest Sand sibling. She wavered, Kankuro teetered back, but both regained footing quickly. Still holding the almost empty sake bottle, Gaara glanced away and poured the remaining booze into one of the glasses. He'd since forgotten which was his own. He took the shot quickly, sat the glass down, and reached into the pocket of his black pants for his wallet. As if on their own volition, his eyes looked back at the door, then darted into the crowd where he spotted the girl again. She was hard to miss. Her pale blonde hair in contrast with caramel colored skin saw to that. As did the slashed band she wore around her forehead. She weaved through the sea of people and up to the bar. The only area of the lounge that was brightly lit. She squeezed between two buffalo built men and waved at the bartender. Losing interest, Gaara stood and made for the register at the far end of the bar.

The line of people waiting to pay curved around to the bathroom stalls. Briefly, Gaara looked to the exit and contemplated leaving without paying the tab. Were it not for his title, he might have followed through. Instead he stood patiently. When the register came back into view, once again Gaara found himself looking sideways, back to the girl.

She was still in the same place. Only instead of the easy going smile she'd seemed to have before, her face was angry and panicked. Her back, pressed against one of the large men surrounding her. Gaara couldn't hear what she was saying. She bared her teeth at the other man in front of her. He held her wrist, spilling the glass of drink onto her white blouse. No one except Gaara seemed to notice the tuffle. And if someone did, neither did they intervene.

"Sir?"

Gaara's attention broke and he looked in front of him at one of the bartenders manning the cash register.

"You're the Kazekage, right? Gaara of the Hidden Sand village? Congratulations on your sister's wedding! My brother works with Shikamaru on the council," the man was yelling over a particularly booming drum solo. "Don't worry, it's on the house."

"No," Gaara held out a bill, "that's not necessary."

"Fair enough," the bartender shrugged, taking the money and opening the drawer.

Turning to leave, Gaara took a deep breath. He blinked at the sea of people between him and the exit. His head swam a little. While he might handle alcohol better than his brother, to say it didn't affect him would be incorrect. Gaara didn't drink often, and true when he did it took quite a bit to tilt him. Tonight he'd had just enough. He wasn't quite drunk, but definitely feeling relaxed. He'd sleep well.

Slowly, he edged into the crowd but quickly decided his best path to the door would be along the far wall, so Gaara took a left and yet again found himself staring at the girl and her surly company. Before, when he'd first noticed her predicament, Gaara paid little mind. Bar fights were common place as were rowdy, groping men and drunk, offended women. He found the entire act juvenile and disgusting. But what he was now noticing went beyond an ordinary display of unwanted attention. He only caught on because bloodbending jutsu gave telling signs. The hand symbol held by the man behind her was unhidden. And while it wasn't his business, Gaara found he couldn't call himself a Kage and walk away knowingly from what might be a future rape.

Sighing, Gaara flattened his palm, outstretched to the dusty floor. He didn't have his gourd full of sand and wasn't going to get physical with anyone while buzzed. So he made do with what little bit of dirt coated the lounge floor. It proved to be enough.

"You pigs!" she growled, frozen solid and glaring at the sack of fat in front of her. Her veins felt stretched and heavy. It hurt. She opened her mouth to cuss him, yell for help. Suddenly even her tongue stopped. Her heart raced. Her stomach sank.

His scratchy laughter reached her ears, repulsing. Behind her, the other man wrapped a hand around her hip. Bile rose up in her throat. She wasn't an exceptionally strong woman and had barely kept alive during the war, but she'd always been able to defend herself against petty thugs. Whatever jutsu these two were using against her had come as a surprise. She couldn't counter it. Couldn't break free. Her eyes darted around the room, panicked and furious. No one seemed to notice her situation. The music was far too loud and everyone in the bar was too engrossed in their own selfishness.

"What's the matter," the man behind her cooed, "cat got your tongue?"

"I think she wants to get out of here," the other one said, wetting his haired lips. His hand, holding too tightly to her wrist, once again sloshed more drink onto her neck and shirt.

She stared at his tattooed knuckles, eyes stinging and cheeks now wet. Her breath caught as a mixture of confusion weighed on her. Snaking up the man's arm, closing around his hand, was sand. It sank between his fingers, brushing against her skin in the process. Loosened his grip.

"What the fuck?" the man behind her yelped in surprise and anger.

Her eyes looked as far behind her as possible, aching at the force to do so. She could barely see it, but sure enough the sand was also covering this man as well. Suddenly he yelled out in pain, fingers bending backward. The hand sign he'd been using crumbled as his fingers broke all at once. In a strong, quick wave, her body went limp. She reached out, catching herself on the bar. Her veins pulsed with relief. She steadied herself as blood pumped strongly, dizzying her. By the time she regained her senses, both men were encased in a thin layer of sand. They groaned and struggled to break free. Eyes wide, she looked away from them, following the trail of sand to her savior. By now, whoever he was, he'd gained an audience. several people had finally noticed what was going on. The band included. Abruptly, the music stopped.

Looking from his feet upward, she took note of his every detail. He stood no taller than five feet eight inches, decked in all black dresswear. Pale. His hair a deep shade of red and his eyes an icy blue. If he was angry or disgusted by these men, it didn't show on his collected face. She recognised him immediately as the Kazekage of Wind Country. Gaara of the Desert. Formerly feared monster. Stories about him stretched even to her left behind home in Amegakure. Some said the Kazekage was a redeemed man. Others said such evil couldn't be suppressed, but only well hidden.

"When I release you," Gaara said, "it would be wise to leave this place very quickly." His voice, while deep, held an airy quality, hushed and calm like a lover's whisper.

The sand around the men collapsed to piles at her feet. She gasped, expecting them to attack blindly. However it appeared their foolishness didn't stretch quite that far. As instructed, the men ran past Gaara, through the crowd. The exit slung open then slammed closed as they disappeared.

She met Gaara's eyes and swallowed hard. She thanked him with a still shaky voice as her body slowly came to normal.

"You should sit until it passes," Gaara told her.

"Show's over everybody!" the bartender called out, startling her.

She held her chest, sweat dripping from her forehead, and fell back into the barstool. The music started up as if nothing had happened. Her heart slammed in her chest but did begin to slow as she held Gaara's gaze. Touching her face in effort to further calm herself, she found her high had rushed away. Sober as judge. The fear she'd been crippled with left, was replaced with a sudden urge to rush after the two attackers and gut them both before either saw it coming. She closed her eyes, counted to ten, decided her better option was to let it go and have the drink she'd come in for. After all, shit happens and karma was a real bitch. Those two would get theirs eventually. Opening her eyes, she figured maybe a proper show of appreciation was warranted. Dismay struck her.

Gaara had already turned to leave but hadn't gotten far.

"Wait!" she called out, standing halfway. When Gaara turned to look back at her, she smiled. "At least let me buy you a drink as thanks," she offered. Part of her hoped he'd decline. He was a very intimidating person.

For a second, he appeared uninterested. His eyes flashed over her and she recognised that glance. Sizing her up for one reason or another. Either the Kazekage was checking her out or debating her motives. She found herself surprised as he nodded and approached the bar. He sat in the stool beside her somewhat awkwardly. Unsure.

Thirty minutes and four shots later, the two of them had moved to a table near the back. She'd purchased a bottle of imported sake. It was stronger than most. Already she was feeling buzzed again. He wasn't sober either. She wasn't a fool, the only reason he'd entertained her was because he'd obviously been deep in a bottle before saving her skin. But he was good at maintaining himself and it was kind of impressive. At first they hadn't talked much. After one shot, he'd seemed apt to leave, yet he hadn't. Booze was good at doing that, at making even the hardest of men open up in some way or another.

Sitting back in his seat, Gaara smirked at her. And shook his head, inhaling deeply. His chest deflated as he spoke. "You're a bad liar," he said.

"How can you tell that," she huffed, a little taken aback.

He held her stare. She had to admit, he was very handsome. And his presence was a bit intoxicating. More so maybe than the sake. He uncrossed his arms and took his glass, sipped the alcohol, still watching her closely. Inquisitive.

"In my lifetime," Gaara began, "I've learned a lot about deception."

She breathed, heart rate picking up. Suddenly she felt her eyes being drawn to the exit.

His smirked softened and his face fell into a sort of neutral stance. "It's not my place to question you," he said. "But if I'm to share a drink with someone," he reached out, bending forward just enough, and grabbed the bottle, filled both glasses, "I'd like a truthful name."

Taking the glass from him, she chewed her bottom lip, hesitant. "Naoko," she said, tracing the rim of her glass, unable to look away from him. He seemed satisfied. As well he should, being as she'd not given him a false one this time.

"Well," he tilted his chin at her, "whatever the reason you're in this village, Naoko, I trust it's friendly." The tone was purposeful and chilling. Hinting at being threatening.

"Scouts honor," she assured him, dipping her pinky into the sake before bringing it to her lips and absently sucking it dry.


	2. Part Two

**Part Two**

The temperature had dropped significantly during the walk from Speakeasy and into the Inuzuka community. At this hour, they were the only people roaming about. The dirt paths leading into the widespread neighborhood were quiet, save crickets hiding in surrounding fields. Gaara's elbow brushed her as she swayed while trying not to trip over rocks in her haze of intoxication. Twice she caught herself staring at his profile. Her cheeks grew hot as she blinked and looked away before he saw her. By the time they reached her temporarily rented house, the roles were reversed. Naoko hadn't missed his glances, modest though they were. When the two stopped at the foot of her porch, Naoko sighed and rubbed her neck. She stared at his feet. Her mind drifted drunkenly.

She and five others had gone into halves together and rented the one level cabin in Konoha. Covered in kudzu, surrounded by dead trees and sprinkled with orange and brown leaves. Behind it, a backdrop of mountains and forest. None of the lights were on. She couldn't sense anyone inside. Miles away, the homecoming party was likely at an end. Her bet was that those she'd traveled with were passed out and wouldn't be home until morning.

"You know," Naoko said softly, "you didn't have to walk me home."

"Clearly you aren't able to care for yourself," Gaara bit teasingly without pause.

She blanched before they shared a daunting look. "That's not fair," she quipped, "they were using forbidden jutsu. You said so yourself," shoving him slightly, then laughing at his surprise. The sand reaching up and grabbing her ankles didn't go ignored. "Wow," she breathed, cupping her mouth and lifting a foot from his grasp. Studying him, she said, "Not the playful type?"

"Hardly," he said, releasing her legs. The sand settled back to the pathway, knocking a few rocks around.

Tucking a piece of her hair behind an ear, Naoko apologized. She hoped he wasn't insulted because she certainly hadn't meant to offend him, possibly making him leave. If anything, she was dreading the loss of company. His had been very intriguing. Maybe it was the alcohol, but Naoko didn't care. She didn't want this enigma of a man to leave her. Gaara, desert weapon, feared Kazekage, hadn't been anything she could have expected. How much of him was merely an inebriated representation didn't matter. It was Naoko's firm belief that booze mostly brought out the truth in everyone. A sloshed and sometimes sloppy, sometimes scary truth. But honesty nonetheless. Gaara wasn't sloppy or scary. Just pleasant. A nice change to the company she usually hailed from.

Steeling herself, she smiled up at him and knew maybe she was being stupid. "If you want," she started and there was no going back, "you can come in."

"I should head back," Gaara said, but he didn't move.

Naoko rolled her eyes. Before her drunken mind fired off warning signs, her hand reached out and tentatively touched Gaara's sleeve. Still he didn't move, and this time sand didn't raise to grip her legs. "Oh come on," she grouched quietly, perhaps a bit pleading. "I haven't had a good conversation in a long time," she continued, stopping herself and losing her train of thought in his intense eyes. Finally she said, "I like your company, Gaara. Please stay a little longer."

This was dangerous. Naoko, if that was in fact her name, was testing uncharted waters. And here he was, going along with. . .whatever this was. Gaara was no stranger to attraction; however, he certainly hadn't ever placed himself in such a vulnerable position with the fairer sex. Had he wanted to? Yes. He was human and had needs just like any other person. And he was not ignorant to what Naoko was attempting. With that said, her confession was true for him as well, about both conversation and company. Hers was oddly relaxing. So, despite his better sense peeking through, Gaara let Naoko lead him into the dark cabin. When she flipped on the light, Gaara winced at the brightness, made an involuntary croak in his throat.

"Sorry for the mess," she commented, stepping around him.

The living room, connected with an open-end kitchen and dining area, was littered with suitcases. Some opened, belongings spilling out onto the blue carpet. He looked over this, watched Naoko head for the kitchen. Hesitant to make himself at home, Gaara watched her from the entryway. She withdrew a small wine bottle and two glasses, kicked her shoes off before stepping back into the living room. Their eyes danced around each other curiously. Gaara's lips tugged into a small, bemused grin at her hushed laughter. She made her way to the sofa and patted the cushion beside her. Unsure, Gaara pulled his eyes away from her and looked at the door.

"Don't even think about it," Naoko laughed playfully, narrowing her eyes in his direction.

Somehow they'd gone from sitting far part on the sofa to being in the floor, knees touching and backs against the furniture. Naoko rested an elbow behind her, staring at a half empty wine glass. Plastered wasn't a strong enough word. Likely for either of them. She looked up from the glass and at his alcohol flushed face, turned slightly towards her own. Her heart pounded in her ears. Her body hummed warmly. Like a coil wound up, her pulse thumped between her legs. Before he could grab her wrist and stop her, Naoko placed her hand against Gaara's cheek. He was warm. His eyes swung down, stared at her hand. She could tell he was nervous. His quickened breathing and tense shoulders gave Gaara away. Inches from him now, she felt his breath ghost her lips and closed the gap.

His lips were dry, chapped, and tasted of sake. The kiss lasted only a brief beat before she was torn away. Confused, she frowned down at his hand on her shoulder, holding her back. At his other hand clinging defensively to her wrist, now pulled from his face. His face didn't show anger, but doubt and distrust. It occurred to her then that's she'd been presumptuous. Biased because of her own loss of innocence at a young age. He'd never done this before. It wasn't that surprising. He was barely an adult, Kage or no. Naoko wasn't sure what to say now. None of this made her want to stop; she was far too fueled by booze and lust.

They sat there facing one another, unmoving. His eyes bore into her and she lost herself wondering what was going through his mind. Would he push further from her and see himself out?

Shock and relief overcame her when the hand pressing into her shoulder lifted, traced her neck and cupped her chin. Sent a shiver down her spine and broke her out in goose flesh. Firm but not forceful he pulled her back to him, covered her mouth with is own. She moaned into the tentative kiss. And when he freed her hand, she bravely brushed her fingers into his thick hair. It was coarse, a little gritty.

If he'd never kissed someone before, the fact surprised her. His tongue pushed at hers and he gently sucked her bottom lip. When they broke apart, Naoko clung to him still, panting softly.

Was she really about to bed the Kazekage of Wind Country? It would seem so.

Sure of herself, Naoko let go of his hair and used both hands to fiddle with the buttons on Gaara's dress shirt. She shifted her body, allowing him access to her waist. His hands were hot even through her thick blouse. They laid against her sides, not shaking, just thoughtful, before Gaara tugged at the material. He untucked her shirt, thumbs stroking her stomach as he did so.

"Lift up," Gaara asked of her, hushed and breathy.

When she'd finished unbuttoning his top, she lifted her arms obediently and chewed her lips as he tossed her shirt away. She sat in her bra before him, feeling unashamed and needy. Bent forward, leaning against him, and kissed him again. Snake like, she pushed at his sleeves, bearing his torso. Both of them were slightly sweaty and so their skin stuck together as she hugged herself to him. This time, when the kiss broke, their foreheads touching, Gaara distanced her only a little. Fingers fluttering over the bend of her elbow, up her arm, he toyed with her bra strap. Then traced the swell of her breast, tickled her sternum, and popped the front clasp. The bra slid off on it's own while Naoko busied herself with the hem of Gaara's pants.

Friction burned Naoko's forehead as Gaara moved to help her get the pants and his underwear off. Their motions going by in a blur.

Naked, he was a sight to behold. Opposite her dark brown skin, his was milky and unscarred. His taut abdomen twitched as Naoko ran her hand down his body and made a move for his erect penis. He gasped when she grabbed it, and closed his bruised eyes breathing in ecstasy as she stroked him.

Naoko parted their foreheads and placed a gentle kiss on Gaara's cheek before taking his mouth into her own hungrily. He kissed her back, only messy this time, clearly near climax. She kept on, squeezing as she massaged him. And felt her lips pull back in a smile against his moaning mouth when he came into her hand.

Catching his breathing, Gaara pulled away, blushing and brow draw together. He looked apologetic. Naoko smiled, eyes lidded at him. She pressed a finger to his mouth before he could speak. She already knew what he was going to say. She'd been with a virgin before. All men had this impossible idea that they had to last even on their first try.

"You've never done this," she stated reassuringly, "That happens. It's fine." More of a whisper.

Gaara looked her over, his own eyes heavy. Whatever he was thinking, she couldn't read him. But Naoko cupped his cheek and moved forward in their act, hoping he was going to keep this going. She stood and watched him. His eyes followed her hands to the button of her shorts. She undid the button, admittedly too drunk to do so without disrupting their heated gaze to watch her own hands, focused. And let out a surprised breath when Gaara rose to his knees and brushed her hands aside. She brought her arms up, watching him and holding her stomach. He looked up at her as if assessing whether she was going along or scared. Naoko grinned at his irrational paranoia.

He hummed, grinning softly back at her before staring at her hips. Agonizingly slow, Gaara pulled her shorts to her ankles before she stepped out of them. She held to his shoulders, balancing herself and kicking the garment aside. His hands ran up her thighs, fingers hooking into the hem of her panties.

Surely she had never had a man undress her so tenderly. Sex was typically more of a sloppy, rushed act for her. Though Naoko hadn't had more than three partners, they'd all been rough and to the point. Even her last. He'd been just as new to the act as Gaara. Only he'd ended up fucking her quick and pretending it hadn't happened the next morning. They'd only been running a mission together for a few weeks, basically strangers. But yet Gaara was a stranger to her as well, and here he was, making her hot and shy like some unused schoolgirl. She chuckled, then shook her head at him when Gaara looked back up at her curiously. Silently telling him to ignore her.

"Hey," she said, weaving her fingers through his hair again, "come with me."

He stood as she pulled his arm, followed her into a bedroom down the hall.

Still wearing only her panties, Naoko sat on the bed, holding Gaara's hand. He stood in front of her and she looked up at him and kissed his fingers. Gingerly, Gaara wrapped his hand along the side of her neck. He leaned over her and laid her back, pressing his lips to her throat. He trailed over her body with his mouth and Naoko shut her eyes, wiggling her hips against him, trying to relieve the pressure between her legs. She nearly reached down and pleasured herself before finding it unnecessary. Her breath left her when Gaara's lips kissed above her sex, against the cloth of her underwear. Hard, she gripped the blankets under her in anticipation. Gaara pulled the panties from her quickly. One man had done her this service before. But his kiss against her slit had not been so careful as the Kazekage's. She moaned when Gaara's tongue pushed into her. Bucked her hips, rocking into him. Strong, Gaara held her hips and licked her. Sucked her. Dipped his tongue into her hole. With one hand Naoko held the bed, with the other she pulled his hair. Moaned his name.

But she whined when he stopped, so close to release. Opened her eyes and stared into his as Gaara placed himself over her. Dripping, Naoko lifted her legs around his waist and wrapped her hands around his back. He kissed the crook of her neck and she panted. His dick rested firmly against her thigh and without thought, Naoko let go of Gaara's back with one arm and gripped him, helped him find her entrance. She cried out quietly when he entered her. Ragged against her neck, Gaara panted. His movements were slow at first. Soon enough he gained confidence. The sex was steady and good. Naoko writhed beneath him, pulling him close as if to meld herself into his burning flesh.

When Gaara came into her, she held his hair with both hands and kissed his forehead. Holding himself up on his fists, Gaara looked down at her flushed face and captured her lips. She kissed him, still with need. For Naoko, she could never quite finish when a man penetrated her. This was always left unfinished. Perhaps all women had this conflict, their partners blissfully unaware unless told. She sighed against Gaara's cheek. How was he to know. She'd never been able to voice that fact to any of her lovers.

As he kissed her again and pulled his spent dick from her, Naoko put her arm between them and touched herself. Truthfully, she'd never forgotten herself and done that until previous partners left her side. She blamed the booze and didn't think Gaara noticed. Until his hand gripped around hers, forcing it away from her fold, not caring that her fingers rubbed both their fluids against his skin. Caught off guard, Naoko met his stare with parted lips and wide eyes. They quickly closed and she moaned. He rubbed a finger into her, circling her clit. Rocked his hand in motion with the swirl of her hips. Naoko gasped, cried out and pushed her face into his neck.

He smelled of sweat and booze. Musky.

She came hard, bucking into the orgasm that rocked her body and panted while he continued to rub her still. Buzzing and too sensitive once the release was over, Naoko grabbed for Gaara's stroking hand and forced it to stop. She touched his face when he pulled back and looked down at her. Traced the scar on his temple. Love, it said.

The couple shared no words when he rolled off and wiped his forehead. Content and happy, Naoko scooted against his side, rested a hand on Gaara's chest. She had little doubt he would be gone when she woke. Sleep took her.

Gaara stared at the ceiling, too hot for her to lay against him but too tired to tell her no. He let her fall asleep before he removed Naoko's arm and stood from her bed. Eyes tracing over her, Gaara sighed. Funny. He'd always thought this type of intimacy would never happen for him. Now that it had, he felt somehow sated. Relieved.

Naoko's soft snore filled the room and she shivered. Leaning over her, Gaara draped the comforter over her before exiting the room.

Sex and love were not necessarily related and this had definitely not been an act of love on either part. Did he care to know this girl? Possibly. Part of Gaara felt sick with how much he wanted to pick her brain. But the more sensible half of him, the now sobering half, told him to let it go. They'd been two drunk, horny strangers who would probably never cross paths again. Especially since he was leaving for Suna tomorrow and she'd obviously lied about herself. He'd known that from the moment she opened her pretty mouth.

This night. It wasn't at all like him.

Naoko had kept anything about herself shrouded in secrecy all night. Even her name was a possible lie. Though Gaara thought maybe she'd been honest about that. Not that it mattered. He could piece together at least some form of backstory based on subtle things. Her headband, now laying on the coffee table, was slashed through. Naoko was exiled. That or she had run off of her own volition. She didn't belong to the Hidden Leaf Village, but apparently Amegakure. And judging by her need to reveal nothing about herself personally, Gaara knew she was on the run. She seemed too warm spirited to be a criminal. But looks and actions were often deceiving. For all he knew, he'd just went to bed with a class A murder. Which couldn't be true. Gaara knew a thing or two about cold blooded killers. He'd been one. Whatever she was running from, whatever her true identity, Naoko was a small-time criminal at best. And judging by the state of this cabin, she was laying low.

Gaara dressed himself and exited the cabin. By all accounts, he should turn her into the Konohagakure authorities.

But he wouldn't.


End file.
